


All the Ashes

by andtheblueberrymuffins



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Dark, Future Fic, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-25
Updated: 2018-03-25
Packaged: 2019-04-07 22:24:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,948
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14091003
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/andtheblueberrymuffins/pseuds/andtheblueberrymuffins
Summary: Friends protect one another. It's just what friends do. Even from the monsters in their memories.Or: The one where someone from Nott's past shows up, and this time she gets the protection she needs.





	All the Ashes

**Author's Note:**

> Caleb and Nott's whole entire deal is incredibly engaging to me, so here's a fic about Nott getting some of what she's hoping for from Caleb. Tagged 'dark' for a reason.

The inn they found lodging at boasted a huge fireplace, a boon for the local citizenry, who were forced to live in the far north, where heat became a precious commodity for at least nine months of the year.

The crackling flames filled the room with warmth and coated the walls and ceiling with soot. The majority of the smoke escaped upward, through the chimney, but the snowfall had been heavy the last few weeks, partially obscuring the flue and sending the curling smoke back down into the air of the common room, where it clung in Caleb’s nostrils as he watched the fire hungrily consume the logs. His companions ignored it, engaged in their own discussions and busy with their food.

Fjord seemed to be trying to explain to Beau that he had no experience sailing in icy waters, while Jester and Molly discussed the shifting streams of light in the night sky, unusually prominent this winter, and, perhaps, somehow connected to the reports of wraiths appearing out of the blizzards to attack unwary travelers. It was word of these ice-creatures that had encouraged their group to linger in this place overnight. Yasha had gone out into the storm, shrugging off Jester’s concern for her well-being. And Nott…

Nott had been reaching for another piece of the roasted meat set in the center of their table. Her form had lost some of its gauntness in the time they’d travelled with this larger group. The bones of her wrist no longer shifted so close to the surface of her skin. But her fingers were still impossibly thin and clever.

And trembling. 

Nott’s breathing changed, as well, coming in sharp, fast pants. Caleb frowned, the hairs on the back of his neck rising as he gazed around the room, trying to find the cause for her alarm; Nott’s ability to sense a potential threat ever outstripped his own. It had saved both their hides more than once. He did not ignore it if given the choice.

Her current focus seemed to be a human man, just pushing in from the storm and unbundling his scarf and coat. He was heavy-boned, with a shock of blondish hair and a face reddened either from the cold or from a long history of drinking. He had a thin mouth and eyes surrounded by crow’s feet. He called a jovial greeting to the inn-keep, and Nott whined, quiet, in the back of her throat, jerking her arm in to curl it around her chest.

She pressed against Caleb’s side in the same instant, an increase in already steady pressure, and said, “I’m tired. Do you—could we go up to the room? Now? Please?”

She kept her head down as she spoke, her hood falling forward over her face. Caleb glanced back at the interloper—now seated at a table closer to the fire—and nodded. “Of course,” he said, easing from his seat, noticing that Nott clambered out on his far side, using his body as a screen to huddle behind. Something hot prickled down his spine.

He took her hand, an unthinking reflex, and found her fingers cold as ice and trembling. “Come on,” he said, worry flexing to wakefulness inside his chest, their movements ignored by the others as they made their way up the stairs. They often disappeared early—neither of them enjoyed crowds as much as the others.

Nott’s shaking increased as they climbed the stairs, until Caleb feared she would no longer be able to walk. But she stayed on her feet doggedly, her nails pricking at the fleshy part of his hand, until he shouldered open their door and ushered her inside.

“Your thread,” she gasped, as he shut the door. “Use your thread, please.” She dug into the pockets of her clothes, coming up with her flask and unscrewing the lid with jerky motions. The lid went clattering across the floor and under the bed as she took a long, desperate drink. Liquor—whichever kind she’d most recently acquired—ran in a trickle out of one corner of her mouth.

Caleb shook himself, grabbing his silver thread and watching her from the corner of his eyes. He’d seen her drink so often it barely registered anymore, but he’d only rarely seen her drink with such a single-minded determination. She finished after a moment and dropped her arm, standing in the middle of the room and staring out at nothing, or at something he could not see.

He was not the only one haunted by memories that could not be forgotten.

“There,” Caleb said, finishing the spell. “All done. Now tell me what is wrong?”

She shook her head and raised the flask again, grimacing to find it empty. “I’m just tired,” she said, lying poorly, as she ever did. “We had a long day, and the snow out there is nearly as tall as me, you know.”

He did know. It was one of the reasons she’d ridden on his shoulders for most of the day. The other reason she had not mentioned. She was not fully recovered, despite Jester’s aid, from the dire injury she took in the early hours of the morning, when a pack of monstrous, undead corpses from a local graveyard attacked their camp. The blow had been meant for him, but she had intercepted it, and the tines of the attacker’s pitchfork had sunk down into her chest with a terrible sucking sound and—

And there were so many time he resented the perfection of his memory.

He shook his head, frowning. She had every right in the world to be tired, but that was not the reason she had requested they flee the common room. Even so, pushing for further explanation was… against his nature. He preferred to let people keep their peace and to hope they’d allow him to keep his. But Nott…

Well. She no longer truly fell into the same category as other people. Perhaps she never had. She was… dear to him. His friend. And friends protected one another. Helped one another. He could not do that without understanding the problem. Decided, he asked, “That man down there. The big one with the blond hair. You recognized him.”

She shuddered, full-bodied, and then jerked out a nod.

“Why? From where?” He flexed his hands, trying to ease away the sudden itch in his veins, the burn of it familiar and terrible. 

Nott shook her head, fishing out a second flask and staggering over to their bed. She climbed up onto the mattress and hunched into the corner, making herself small—smaller.

“Nott,” Caleb said, his voice gone strange and thick, feeling heat as it gathered beneath his skin and pooled in the tips of his fingers. Acidic fear stung in the back of his throat, but it was not sufficiently strong to dampen the sick wash of hot anger. 

“From before,” she said, finally, her voice lower and softer, slurred. “Before you. After I—I first came to the surface. He… he found me. Hurt me. Are you done? Is it safe in here?”

Caleb swallowed. “Yes,” he said, biting back any other questions. The exact details mattered little—she was obviously terrified of the man. “You are safe.”

She shuddered again and made a wet sound that could have been laughter or a sob. The flask slipped from her hand, and she did not grab for it. Something inside her loosened, all at once, and she slumped to the side, evidently unconscious.

Caleb stared at her for a time, unmoving, until a burst of newly familiar laughter echoed up from below. The man. He still ate and drank and waited, down below.

Caleb blinked, stirred all of a sudden, like a faded ember returning to life when fed a piece of dried grass. He checked Nott once more; she slept still and deep, the sleep of a black-out drunk. He doubted she’d stir at all until the morning, even if she got sick.

Reassured, he turned and left the room. Their party remained where they were left, Jester stretching beside Fjord in a way that seemed purposeful while Beau and Molly argued about… well, who knew with the two of them, they seemed to do it for a game and could pick any topic at random to snip at one another about.

“Everything alright with Little Bit?” Fjord asked as Caleb took his seat.

“Mm,” Caleb hummed, glancing towards the man at the other table. “Yes. The cold today wore her out. And her injury.”

The others nodded, accepting the explanation, and the conversation moved on, to wondering about Yasha’s current whereabouts and to the methods they might use to find the ice wraiths they needed to hunt. The night crept along, until finally the man at the other table stirred, rising from his chair and calling boisterous goodbyes to his companions.

“Pardon me,” Caleb said, absent-minded manners moving his tongue as he stood and made his way out of the door, ignoring the questions of the others. It would not do to follow the man outside. Better to be outside already. Better to be waiting. That would be less suspicious.

Outside, the snow storm raged, heavy flakes pouring from the sky, swirling through the dark air, dampening all the sounds of the world and lowering Caleb’s visibility to next to nothing. Caleb breathed out a puff of steam, and his heart battered his ribs as he wondered what he thought he was doing, he was not this person, not anymore, not since—

The door to the inn swung open, vomiting forth light and sound and a man that terrified Nott the way caves did, the way jails did, the way hot metal did….

The man shuffled off down the street.

Caleb fell into step behind him. And he should have been cold, out here with only his ragged coat, but the snow evaporated where it fell on his face and the exposed skin of his hands. The man approached the mouth of an alley, half-buried by a drift of snow. Caleb felt the outer layer of skin on his hands blacken.

“Excuse me,” he called out, his gut full of fire, bringing a hand up as the man jerked to look over his shoulder, eyes going wide. “Could I ask you a question?”

#

The snow had stopped melting before it even reached Caleb by the time he found his way back to the inn. Heavy flakes clung to his hair, eyelashes, and beard. It soaked into his coat and scarf, weighing him down.

The others no longer waited at their table. The dining area had emptied. The huge fire was banked down, the dark red heat of it checked and contained for the time being, until the proprietor saw fit to bring it forth again.

Caleb shivered, tucked his hands into his pockets, and climbed the stair.

Nott waited where he’d left her, a small pile of fear and trust and scars. He licked his lips, shutting the door carefully and unwinding his scarf, shrugging out of his sodden coat. He felt shaky now, in the aftermath of what he’d done. He sat down on the side of the bed, staring forward, seeing flames and—

“Caleb?” Nott asked, quiet, her voice cracking. She shifted around, her movement free from coordination before she slid over sideways and landed her head on the pillow. She sniffed, after a moment. “Is everything alright? You smell like ash.”

Caleb’s shivers faded. He blinked and stroked a hand back over her hair, tucking away the memories for now. “Yes, liebling. Everything is alright now. Go back to sleep.”


End file.
